


Are We Friends

by jesuisherve



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: M/M, Male Slash, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Power Play, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:51:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3469976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisherve/pseuds/jesuisherve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House of Cards season 3 spoilers! (minor spoilers)</p><p>What if Thomas hadn't gone home when Frank told him to that night?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are We Friends

_“I’m addicted.”_

_“To me?”_

The conversation veered away from that question, but Thomas’ heart jumped when Frank asked it. He wasn’t addicted to Frank Underwood, no, he was addicted to secrets and being let into the inner circles of one’s heart, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about letting himself get addicted to Frank as well.

“I’m asking as your friend.” Thomas took Frank’s hand gently as he said that, and he wasn’t surprised at how little Frank reacted to the touch. It was if the man had expected it. Then Frank glanced down at their hands and ran his thumb over Thomas’ skin and Thomas knew where the night was going.

“Are we friends?”

“We could pretend to be.”

Frank sighed softly and shook his head. “This isn’t pretend.” Moved his hand to cover Thomas’. “I’m real.”

“You’re hurting.”

“She’s hurting more,” Frank replied, referring back to Claire, to the betrayal he had admitted to.

Thomas moved then, taking Frank’s hand and guiding it to his chest. Laid Frank’s palm flat on his chest. He felt the cold metal of the president’s wedding ring beneath his thumb, a reminder.

“Everyone’s hurting.”

Frank cupped his chin lightly. Touched him as gently as Thomas had done first. “Go home.” He said quietly.

The writer shook his head. Frank couldn’t dismiss him so easily. There was something _there,_ something tangible, and he wanted to pursue it. Knowing the risk he was taking, Thomas kissed the president of the United States of America.

Thomas knew his lips were slightly chapped and he knew his beard probably scratched at Frank’s skin, but the kiss was warm and solid. Frank’s breath puffed out lightly and Thomas could feel it on his cheek. They parted, just barely, and looked each other in the eye.

“You told me that you don’t care about ideas,” Frank said, his lips brushing the writer’s, “You care about the man. Is this what you meant by caring?”

“Don’t twist my words,” Thomas said, smiling. He kissed Frank again and felt the president’s hand curl into his hair. They both shifted on the little couch until Thomas was practically lying on top of Frank. He was surprised at the hard muscle that he felt under Frank’s stomach and in his arms. The president was older, but he had grit and steel. Thomas felt a twinge bellow his belt as he thought about what Frank Underwood, the most influential man in the United States, could do with that physical power.

Frank grabbed a handful of Thomas’ ass and the writer moaned a little. Thomas rolled his hips against the other man, and could feel Frank’s erection pushing through his pants. “Quickly,” Frank said, pulling his head back and sinking his teeth into Thomas’ neck. “I need you.” His voice was husky and thick.

Thomas sat up, straddling Frank’s hips. He began unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off. Frank’s hands came up to his hips and gripped them. “This is what I wanted to ask Tim Corbet about,” Thomas admitted, a dogged grin creeping over his face. “I always wondered if you played for both teams.”

“Tim Corbet wouldn’t have said a thing,” Frank growled, sitting up with some difficulty to pull his own sweater and shirt off. He looked at Thomas. Any vulnerability that had been in there in the beginning of their conversation was gone. “He’s not a damn fool.”

“I might be a damn fool,” Thomas said and leaned in to kiss Frank again.

Frank caught him by the wrist and by the throat. “You better not be a damn fool, Tom,” he said softly. His fingers tightened for a split second before he eased off and let Thomas’ lips touch his again.

A chill ran over Thomas’ spine when Frank grabbed him, but he found himself kissing Frank with more intensity than he had kissed anyone with in recent memory. That was the addiction talking; telling him that this moment with Frank Underwood would fill the hole in his stomach and get his skin to stop crawling.

Frank undid the writer’s belt buckle and pulled open his pants. He slipped his hand into Thomas’ pants and palmed his hard cock. Thomas hissed a tiny moan of pleasure and pushed his hips forward.

“Get up,” Frank said.

Thomas obliged. He stood with his hair falling forward, his shirt off, and his pants starting to slide down his hips. Frank stood as well and Thomas could not help but glance down at the president’s erection.

“Take those off,” Frank said, motioning with his hand. Thomas watched the cords stand out in Frank’s arm at the quick movement. “Tom.” The whip crack tone of Frank’s voice brought him back to the present and he nodded, shimmying out of his pants.

“And those,” Frank said lazily, undoing his belt. He stood, legs apart, like a king overseeing all.

A king.

It occurred to Thomas that Frank Underwood must see himself as some sort of king. An emperor. It wouldn’t be anything less than what he was.

Thomas pulled off his boxers, too. Freed from all fabric, his erection curved up towards his stomach. He took it in hand and stroked it slowly, looking at Frank for a reaction.

“You’re going to suck me off,” Frank said.

The obscene phrase sounded strange coming out of the president’s mouth. But Thomas did not object. It was not a request, it was a fact. Frank stated it, so it would become truth. Thomas stepped forward and knelt. He nuzzled the front of Frank’s crotch, feeling the heat of him. He mouthed Frank’s cock through the material of his pants before reaching up to pull his pants down.

Frank put his hand on the top of Thomas’ head. The weight of it felt nice. Thomas hooked his fingers under the waistband of Frank’s briefs and pulled them down slowly. He kissed the hollow of Frank’s hip and ran his tongue along the lines of his groin before opening his mouth to the tip of Frank’s cock.

Thomas had a rhythm. He had sucked plenty of dick before. It was routine to figure out what men liked, and Thomas had a burning desire to find out what Frank Underwood liked. He moaned a little in the back of his throat and began jerking himself off at the same time.

“Ah, ah,” Frank murmured, pulling Thomas’ hair sharply, “I didn’t say you could touch yourself.”

Power play. Of course that’s what Frank Underwood liked. But something told Thomas that this wasn’t his usual fair. Frank Underwood was a precise man and everything he did had purpose. He was not the kind of man to have a rough, fumbling fuck in the darkness. He felt, for whatever reason, that Frank Underwood could be quite tender.

But now was not one of those times.

He let Frank Underwood fuck his mouth. He relaxed his jaw and flattened his tongue along the underside of Frank’s cock. His own cock was hard and leaking, but he kept his hands away from it. Frank would give him permission when he felt like it.

Frank came in his mouth and Thomas swallowed it after only gagging once. There were many things that he had gotten used to when he was turning tricks, but cum in his mouth was not necessarily one of them. But he thought it might be ill-advised to spit on the president’s carpet.

To his surprise, Frank dropped to his knees in front of him. His face was flushed and there was sweat rolling down his forehead, but his eyes were sparking with something. He kissed Thomas then, and wrapped his fingers around the writer’s cock. “Good boy,” Frank said, his drawling accent coming out thicker than before.

It didn’t take long for Thomas to cum. As he came, he pressed his face against the crook of Frank’s neck and bit into his shoulder to keep from crying out. It would do no good to have Edward Meechum on the other side of the door hear what was going on. Thomas thought the man had a bit of a crush on Frank already, and he wasn’t too keen on the special place that Thomas Yates had begun to occupy for the president.

Frank brought his hand up, covered in fluid, and Thomas thought he was going to ask for him to lick it off, but instead the man got up and grabbed tissue paper to wipe it off.

“Meechum will see you out,” Frank said after they had gotten dressed.

Thomas looked at him, searching his face for something, anything, that would give him a clue as to what Frank was thinking. He drew a blank and contented himself with kissing Frank again.

“No more of that,” Frank chided him, but Thomas thought the tone was amused.

“You’ll call me tomorrow?” Thomas asked.

“About what?” Frank asked, the ‘H’ in ‘what’ coming out more prominent with his accent.

“The book,” Thomas said, pretending to be preoccupied with straightening his sleeves.

“We’ll see,” Frank said as he steered the writer to the door. “Go home and get some rest.”


End file.
